Just Some Guy
by TLRAMP
Summary: Rated R only because of m/r (this is my first attempt at this type, so be nice!). Mark feels helpless (as usual, right?) and Roger isn't there this time to support him. What can I say? I was inspired to write something other than my usual stories. ;-) Don


****That's right! It's another wonderful story-in-progress by moi! takes her bows gracefully Thank you, thank you all!

Anyway, once again, these characters are Jonathan Larson's – the man, the myth, the genius, the hero, the legend. I

have taken some liberty with changing the way Mark and Roger behave (after all, this _is_ an m/r fic), and I give my

apologies to whomever this may offend. If you don't like m/r stories, don't read this. The lyrics are from one of my

favorite singer/songwriter/performers Anthony Rapp. The song is called Just Some Guy (the other Anthony Rapp

song quoted is "Now I Know"). Any other song lyrics mentioned will be my own (Copyright © Tiara Rea, 2001. 

All Rights Reserved). Okay, now here's the story.****

Just Some Guy:A RENT Fan-Fic

_…I'm happier now than I've ever been,_

_And I'm hoping this feeling won't die,_

_And if he says he's just some guy,_

_That's fine; the truth is, he's mine:_

_My sweetheart, my love – sent down from the sky,_

_And so very much more than just some guy._

            I think I've always loved him. From the very first moment that we met, I knew we'd be as close as brothers. In fact, we're nearly inseparable most of the time. If not for Mimi, Roger and I would be living happily ever after right now. Don't get me wrong; I've never hated Mimi. I've never even disliked her. She was such a nice girl and a great friend to me and the rest of the gang: not to mention she made Roger happy. Anyone who can do that has earned my respect already. I can't say, however, that I wasn't jealous of the power she held over Roger. I was extremely envious, so much so that my face turned from my usual pallid glaze to a dark forest green. It was as if there had been this fierce competition between us both, and she didn't even notice! Me? I notice everything. That's what I do – I stand by and take notice of every single, insignificant, major or minor details that might or might not be missed by another's glancing eye. Then, I dissect it like the twisted scientist I am until the facts have spun out of control and they mesh in a sort of breathless haze, mixing with a vivid assortment of fabulous colors woven with intricate delight. So, where do I fit in with the rest of the world? Nowhere. I'm Mark Cohen.

            In retrospect, I'm not so sure I ever knew I loved him until this one day…. It stands out in my mind like a banana in a pile of grapes. The day was April 29th. The year was 1998. This was the day that Collins had died. Mimi had gone back home, before she'd known about Collins' death, to visit her family. Maureen and Joanne had moved away to California, where they would soon be getting married. That left us both alone (not as if Benny cared, since he moved away to New Jersey with Allison) to grieve over the death of our closest friend. I remember it was late afternoon, as the sun was setting on a cold New York day. It was around 6:00PM when I heard the door to our small loft open. I remember thinking that it was too early for Roger to be returning home and that he and his band-mates must have had some kind of fight or trouble between them….

            "Hey Roger," I called out softly, sliding off our folding table and standing to my feet. There was no answer and I remember getting a sick feeling in my stomach as he entered another step. "Roger?"

            "Yeah…. I'm here…." His voice was rasp and choked.

            "What's the matter?" I asked in all my naïve, innocent goodness, moving a step closer as he did the same. As he entered our dimly lit apartment, I remember the tears on his pale cheeks. I remember my heart stopping in my chest and all breath being choked from my lungs as he stared at me with such a melancholy gaze that I was rendered speechless and motionless. I just stood there like an idiot, watching those big, brown eyes of his implore me to do something – to take away whatever pain he was feeling. At this point, I knew something was terribly wrong. "What is it, Roger?" I assumed the worst. "Mimi…?"

            "No…." He shook his head defiantly with a sense of sadness. He frantically wiped the tears away and began to walk towards me. "It's…. It's Collins, Mark…. He's…. He's dead…."

            "Oh no…." I breathed, my voice quivering. Never in a million years had I imagined that Collins would die. "God, no…. Not Collins…." I felt a sharp pain shoot through my entire body and I fell to the floor, sobbing immediately. Feeling the coursing waterfall of tears cascade rapidly down each cheek and my heart stopping and going with erratic motions, I was lost in despair. Just when I remember thinking that nothing could ease the pain and that I would be forlorn eternally, I felt the gentle pressure of fingertips on my shoulder. I jerked my head towards the bearer of this loving gesture only to be amazed and shocked beyond belief, for it was Roger who had asserted such a wondrous touch! Male or female, friend or lover – none have since matched the emotions that that contact stirred within my heart. Then, I watched in stunned silence as he knelt beside me and we embraced awkwardly. As my eyes slammed shut, I felt myself clinging to my best friend for whatever love he had to offer me. I felt myself pulling him closer and my fingers digging into his back as I held him, weeping like an infant into his chest, burying my face in the flimsy cloth that separated us. At that moment, my heart had begun to pound like there was no tomorrow. I remember my breath coming in gasps and I faintly recall choking on my words as I tried to speak. He hushed me softly and we just sat there, crying together.

            As my tears subsided, he pulled slightly away and I trembled with the sudden coldness that washed over me as I left his arms. My own arms instinctively groped out towards him and then I felt my cheeks grow hot and redden under his confused gaze. As I opened my eyes, I felt embarrassed and silly, and it was then that I knew that he'd been holding me only to ease my pain – not for what I had wanted at that moment. But then, something strange and wonderful happened – something that changed our lives forever….

            I felt myself bow my head like a young child, and I lowered my gaze innocently to the floor to avoid any further feelings of foolishness that might be accompanied with his bewildered stare. My face was beet red now and I could feel the heat flowing into my cheeks. The harder I tried to think of how to stop it, the more the color flooded my visage and I was left feeling so below him and so undeserving of whatever kind of love I had dreamed of, that I didn't dare think any more about it. But then, just as I thought the world would end if I said what I was feeling, I felt those lithe musician's fingertips gracing my chin, pushing it easily up, so that we both gazed into each other's eyes. My own eyes brimmed with tears, and his were red from having wept before. His skin against mine should have been a soothing reminder of our cohesive friendship, but it was, instead, a turning point for the unknown feelings in my heart, which caused me to shiver more than I had before, in all my timid pining. I felt my lashes flutter down to rest upon crimson skin as ashen lids were exposed. His fingers began to roam across my face – starting with my cheek, lips and jaw line – and my breathing came in harsh gasps that made my chest ache. I ached elsewhere, as well, and it was then that I felt my heart give way and I could admit that I loved him. I heard myself whisper it inwardly. 'I love you, Roger… God, I love you….' But, no words were uttered from my thin, parted lips as I struggled to maintain control.

            I reopened my eyes and saw him recoil slightly, as if he'd been released from a magical spell, and he began to stand. I remember grabbing his arm with both of my weak hands, and I begged him not to leave me. Before I knew it, we were both standing on our feet and we were inches apart, our bodies nearly touching at the chest. I felt the heat of his body repel against my own and it drove my senses wild with frenzied lust. It was more than my inexperienced mind could handle, but it felt so damn good. It gave me a feeling of courage, and, with that extra boost of nerve, I reached a quivering hand out and cupped his cheek. I then remember distinctly that I pulled his face close to mine and we both turned our heads, moving in for a kiss. My heart nearly leapt from my chest, and I was so sure he could hear the pounding from where he stood – so close to me then that our muscles were touching, our chests pressed tightly together. His breath came hot upon my face as my eyes closed for the second time that evening. I felt my own breath mingle with his, mixing until I couldn't tell which was whose. And then, just as our lips were centimeters away, he pulled away from my gentle offer and strode across the room to the farthest corner. I whimpered as he moved away, and though my eyes were still closed, I felt him turn his back to me. I swallowed and licked my dry lips carefully, shaking and wavering as I stood silently, waiting with a desperate hunger for his lips to be once again so near mine!

            I opened my eyes and looked at him hopelessly. I moved forward and slipped into a folding chair at the table, letting my head fall into my folded arms and I let go – crying again without abandon. My shoulders raised and descended with a jerking pattern, brisk and freely, as I sobbed into my own arms, longing for Roger again…. I felt him turn to watch me, silent in his own agony. I remembering knowing that he must have been thinking, 'Oh God, what do I do?' I felt him walk towards me slowly, every step more painful than the next. When he was close enough, his hand moved towards me and it graced the tender skin on the back of my neck lightly, rousing the tiny hairs that lay there.

            "God Mark…." He whispered so quietly that my ears strained to make it out. "I'm so, so sorry…."

            With those words, he was gone.

            That was the last I saw of him for a few days. He'd gone and stayed at a cheap hotel in Jersey with the other members of his band and had left before the payment was due, leaving the rest to pay. For those few days he was gone, I was a wreck, tossing and turning in what little sleep I managed to get, and always wandering around the Village lost, with a dazed look on my face. Mimi returned the following day. Roger had called her, she'd told me. He'd told her about Collins and she had returned as soon as possible. I was thankful for another person in the loft, for without another soul, I would have done the inconceivable and committed suicide with a cheap plastic knife from McDonald's. But, I was horrified and distraught by having Mimi there to comfort me. We wept together the first day she returned, but after that I felt sick and tortured by her every movement around me. She'd sometimes catch me sobbing on the floor of our tiny bathroom and she'd try to console me to no avail. She assumed it was Collins I was grieving, and it was, but only partially. Part of me was gone without Collins by my side. He'd always been that unmovable force to be reckoned with. If ever I had money problems, it was Collins to the rescue. If I was having a fight with Roger (which wasn't often), he'd be the mediator and we'd be through it by lunchtime. But, Collins' death, though painful and unnerving, was not the only cause for my sudden depression. Roger's absence was more terrifying to me, because if he left me forever, I would have lost two of my closest friends.

            But, within that week, Roger returned and nothing was spoken about the near explosion of passion between us the other night. He simply went on with his life and we all mourned Collins' death in our ways.

            Now, it's nearing the year 2000. It's December 11th, to be exact. Roger hasn't been home for a few weeks now. Mimi died while she was visiting a friend near 11th and Broadway on the 1st of November. A cocaine dealer had mistaken her for one of his clients, ironically by the name Mimi, who hadn't paid her bills for a year and in a fit of rage had shot our poor Mimi to death with five bullets through her chest. She had only lived long enough to tell Roger that she loved him and would always love him, no matter what. She had looked at me and tried to whisper something, but it was such a strain that she'd passed away in the process. I thought what she was trying to say was, 'Take care of him', but I could be mistaken. However, I took what I perceived to heart and had treated Roger with all the tenderness and care of a dutiful servant or even a loving father. I thought he was progressing nicely until I awoke one morning to find his bed empty and a handwritten note lying atop his tussled bed sheets. It contained the following message in its entirety:

****Dear Mark,

       You're probably finding this note hours after I left. Goddamn it Mark, I don't know what to say. I'm lost and I can't fight these feelings anymore! I'm giving up on life as a starving artist, or whatever the hell I am right now, and moving away to a better place…. You have no idea what this past year has been like for me. I've been lost ever since Collins died…. You remember that day? Mimi and I weren't getting along, and that makes her passing so much worse…. I just – I need some time to myself, Mark. I'll come back…. Soon.

                                                          I promise.

                                                                                                                             Your friend always,

Roger

If I wouldn't have been so upset and dismayed by what the note was telling me, I would have laughed at the silly way Roger signed his name. It was so simple, almost childlike with its large almost capital lettering. I allowed myself to read the note over too many times. I picked up on everything that Roger was trying to say. I saw how he'd started to say 'You remember that day?' but had scribbled it out, probably after a moment of thoughtless recollection. But, why had he left it there and not gotten a new piece of paper? There were plenty of sheets left. Why didn't he at least scratch it out completely? 'He wanted me to read that,' I had known. And after reading it a fifth time over, I fell into the bed where he used to lie and had fallen asleep instantly – alone.

            "Hey Roger! What the hell are you doing in there?" called a voice from the hallway outside the bathroom where Roger had blockaded himself with a razorblade. "You've been in there for days!"

            Roger glanced towards the door, swallowing. A dense sweat had long-since broken out on his brow and his hair had grown longer in these few weeks he'd been gone from the Village. He'd grown a goatee, too. He wore torn-up khakis and a drenched t-shirt. He stood slowly, grabbing hold of the sink and forcing his eyes towards the mirror. What he saw unnerved him. He was a trembling, dirty street kid with a grubby goatee that wasn't shaved properly and a mess of tussled locks that were beginning to fall in his face.

            "Roger….? You still in there?" continued the voice, worried now.

            Roger sighed, letting the razor drop into the sink as he turned his head towards the door. "Yeah, I'm here." He turned on the water, moving the razor to its rightful place beside the sink, and threw some water on his unclean features.

            "Are you coming out, or do you plan to live in there?"

            Roger laughed lightly. "If you had food in here, I just might take you up on that offer."

            "I could call room service, if you so desire, Your Majesty."

            "Haha, very funny Beck…."

            "Does that make me the Queen then, if you're the King?"

            Roger turned the water off, wiping his face dry with his sleeve as he unlocked and opened the door. "Not that I'm not flattered you'd want to be my Queen, but no thanks."

            "Well that hurts!" she replied with her hands on her hips. As Roger moved out into the hallway, she noticed his deranged façade and made a confused face. "Roger honey, are you okay?"

            "Never been better, why?" He continued to walk, not turning to face her.

            "Now Roger, don't lie to me or I'll kick your ass out of here so fast it'll make your head spin!" she retorted, running up behind him and turning him to face her. "Geez, babe, you look awful."

            "Thanks," he replied sarcastically, pushing her away and plopping down on the small couch. "You look great too."

            "I'm only trying to help, Roger," she hissed, kicking him playfully. "Still in the mourning process, I guess."

            "Yeah…." He turned his head away, looking out of the small, plastic-wrapped window of the tiny, one-bedroom apartment in New Jersey. Becky Kaiser had been an old acquaintance of his, back in the days when he played with his band at CBGB's and the Pyramid Club (before they tore it down). He had been sleeping on the streets, content to just let himself whither away and die there – alone and lonely – but Becky had noticed him and had taken him in with no questions asked. The questions came later, once he'd moved in. He'd told her everything – everything, that is, but what had happened on one occasion between Mark and he. That was something he had yet to figure out and confront. Until he could talk to himself about it, he wouldn't tell another soul. He'd attempted to call Mark a few times, but each time he picked up the phone, he'd drop it just as quickly. He was deathly afraid that if he went back to live with Mark, he might lose his best friend as he'd lost Collins and Mimi.

            "Wanna talk about it?" Becky continued softly, placing a hand on Roger's shoulder.

            "Not really." He shrugged her off.

            She rolled her eyes, standing to her feet. "Fine. Be that way, Roger. You know, I'm only trying to _help_ you here!"

            "I know, Beck…. I'm sorry…. Ask me anything else, okay? I can't talk about my problems…."

            She stomped off into the bathroom, muttering something about his living there but not really being all there.

            He sighed, leaning back in the soft cushions. It was nearing Christmas time already. So many memories resided around Christmas Eve that he didn't want to think about it. The first time Mimi and he had met when she needed a light for her candle. Then, he'd purposely tried to hide her stash so that she would stay a while longer. It was also the first night they kissed. And, it was the night that he'd told her he loved her and she him. This year, Christmas would seem so empty…. He remembered further back and smiled, recalling his first meeting with Angel. Collins had seemed so happy and alive with her. Of course, she'd made them all feel alive. Poor Collins…. At least they were together in Heaven now. He recoiled slightly at this thought. Did he even believe there was a Heaven? He wasn't sure anymore….

            "C'mon Roger," Becky called, entering again. "We're going out tonight."

            "I'm not in the mood…." He replied, turning away.

            "Well…tough!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. "You live in my house, so you have to abide by my rules," she scolded like a parent.

            He smiled softly. "Do I have to go out?"

            "Yes! If you're not careful, you'll go into withdrawal. You've already become a hermit – always staying home, never getting fresh air…. Why, look at your face, Roger! You're pale as a ghost!" 

            He shrugged. "I hate going out."

            "Even with me as company?"  
            He sighed, letting his shoulders droop. That was his only reply.

            "Oh fine you!" She placed her hands on either cheek and squeezed his face together so that he looked foolish. "Now," she whispered in baby talk, "If wittle Woger doesn't come out with Becky, he'll be beaten sewerely when we get home." She pinched his cheeks.

            He pulled away, laughing slightly. "Fine, fine…. Just don't use that voice again – ever. Where are we going?"

            "It's a surprise!" She smirked.

            He grumbled, "I hate surprises…."

            "December 21st: 6PM Eastern Standard Time – I can't believe a month's already passed. Turn the camera on. First shot: Mimi, just days before she died…."

            "What a beautiful frame, Mark," cooed Maureen, holding Joanne's hand as they sat inside the tiny loft, watching Mark's newest film.

            "Don't interrupt the narrative," he said with a weary smile. They hushed. "Close on Roger as he mourns beside her coffin, with Benny in the background, crying on Allison's shoulder – did we ever truly thing he cared?"

            "Of course I cared!" Benny blurted, folding his arms.

            "Shh!" they all cried.

            "Fade in on a gloomy November day… as Roger runs away – as usual – from all his petty problems. Watch the letter he wrote me fade into the black…. He left a half-finished song entitled 'Won't You Please Come Home?' strewn upon the floor. Let's hear it now as Mimi's coffin falls into the dirt – not a place she ever wanted to be…."

            The four friends listened intently as Roger's song was played softly in the background of the film, as Mimi's coffin was buried slowly with all the friends – save Roger – standing around the grave. The song was bittersweet and terrified, speaking of things that only Mark could truly grasp. It stopped midpoint with an unfinished chorus and uneasy notes scribbled out swiftly on the paper. The film continued….

            "Close on Maureen and Joanne – the happily newlywed couple, fresh in from California. Just back from their honeymoon, they kiss…." Mark recoiled slightly as he watched them French-kissing – a little too passionately for his taste – before his eyes. "Let's fast-forward…"

            "Aw, but that's the best part, Markie!" retorted Maureen with a smirk.

            "Yee-aah!" cried Benny, watching with interest. "This is your best film yet, Mark." He winked at Joanne, obviously enjoying the lesbian action a little too much.

            "Gimmie a break, pervert!" retorted Joanne, rolling her eyes.

            "Tell me again why _he's_ here," Maureen whispered.

            Benny made a disgusted face and sneered at Maureen. "I'm a friend."

            "Some friend. Didn't even come to Collin's –"

            Mark raised a hand defiantly. "Stop – both of you." He turned back to the camera. "Back to my movie…."

            Shots of all the friends in their days of glory flew before Mark's eyes, and it was hard to watch it all at once like that. His heart had given way a long time ago to sharing emotions in front of others. He'd always been known as the sappy one and the one most likely to cry. He refused to let such a weakness get the better of him. But, he couldn't stop the flow of thoughts that pervaded through his mind like a wildfire. As he watched images – those flimsy moments of tenderness that he captured on his small 16mm camera – he felt bitter guilt and raging sadness. The pictures of Roger were the worst. He never looked happy – not in any one of the shots Mark seized.

            Disgusted with his film and the simple shots he showed, Mark flicked off the projector swiftly and began packing it away. "I'm not in the mood," was his only reasoning behind it to his friends.

            Roger stood on the small stage that was set up in the Life Café – guitar in hand. It was his first time back in New York since he'd left Mark. Becky had made a few calls, acquiring Roger some small gigs at various eateries and cafes around the New Jersey area. He'd made a small name for himself and was beginning to grow popular among underground artists and was becoming something of a cult musician. His music seemed to reach people of a younger generation, giving him a chance to be seen in many performance venues – small ones, of course. This gig was especially important to him, however. The Life Café was not only his first performance in New York, but it was a place where all his old friends might very well be seen. He wasn't sure if he wanted Mark there or not. All he knew was that he was nervous for the first time about performing in front of a group.

            The waiters rushed about, and the small audience clapped, eating their dinners as they looked up at the lithe musician who stood before them, holding an electric guitar and strumming it twice to tune. The bandmates that surrounded him included one drummer and a bass guitarist. They were nearing the end of the first set and Roger decided to give them a fast-paced song to pep them up from all the sappy songs they'd been doing.

            "Thanks, guys," he whispered, nodding his head. "For the last song of this set, we'll do 'Run Away' – a song I wrote a long time ago." Clearing his throat, Roger began:

"Never again will I allow myself to feel that way,

And never again will I let love lead me astray –

I've got to run, run away…."

            Mark walked down the deserted streets of Greenwich Village, pulling his coat securely around his shoulders. He felt utterly miserable on this cold September night. After January, he knew Roger wasn't coming back. Around February, he'd finally stopped feeling sorry for himself and had started going out again – alone. Every night, he felt worse than before, but he never allowed himself to get really upset over anything, until one day just a week ago when he'd taken a razor blade and sliced through his right wrist. He didn't even go to the hospital afterwards. Somehow, he managed to make it through that and lived with only a deep cut bandaged on that wrist. Maureen and Joanne had gone back to their humble lives in the Village and Benny went back to Allison, more-or-less leaving Mark alone completely. As if anyone would care that he was suicidal, depressed, and emotionally unstable. But, he wasn't pitying himself. He figured it was only a one-time thing and it wouldn't happen again….

            Soon, he found himself outside the Life Café. He hadn't planned to take this route to get wherever it was he was going, and yet something had pulled him towards the restaurant's pleasant and comforting walls. Somehow, every time things were going wrong, the Life Café seemed to ease whatever pains he had. Standing outside and peering into the windows, he saw a band onstage and smiled as he heard their lively lyrics and entertaining music. Letting his eyes droop, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, producing a few thin bills – enough to buy a tea or two, at the most. He sighed, shrugging it off. If need be, he'd skip out on the bill again like always. They'd come to dread his every appearance there, but they couldn't kick him out without reason.

            Pushing the door open slowly, he let the atmosphere of the café cover him. Glancing around, he noted that it was packed tonight. 'Must be a big-time band,' he thought aimlessly, taking a table in the back corner near the door – his usual place for when he was eating alone, which was often now. A waiter rushed over towards him, carrying an empty tray, obviously rushed.

            "Look sir," he began, talking as if he'd had three mocha cappuccinos already, "As you can see, we've got a full house tonight, so if you're not going to buy anything, then would you please mind –"

            Mark produced the crumpled bills and let them fall to the tabletop. "Just a tea, thanks…. Keep whatever change is left – if there is any."

            The waiter nodded, rushing off towards another table, all Mark's money in hand. 

"…Do you hear the darkness calling me today?

Well, I hear it with open ears, and I pray

For you to run away, run away…"

            Mark's foot tapped along to the rock feel of the song that slid over him, filling his ears with its peppy feel and yet melancholy lyrics. His tea was brought swiftly and he took a sip while surveying the crowd. Mostly teenagers – young girls, at that – sat around, hanging on every word uttered from the lead singer's lips. Mark chuckled softly for the first time in a long while as he watched the girls, with their skin-tight shirts and pants that could be sewn on, as they boosted themselves appropriately and leaned on their elbows across countertops to try and catch any of the musician's eyes. Shaking his head, he allowed himself to see what all the fuss was about, and let his eyes stray to the band in center-stage. His eyes widened immediately and the tea slid from his hands to the floor, crashing in an aura of sound, which was – thankfully – blocked mostly by the riffs in the guitars onstage. It had only taken an instant for the sight and sound to mesh together and produce the vivid image that sat before him. Though Roger had changed his look considerably, it was still that same raw quality that Mark had always been drawn to. Roger's hair was longer now and dyed more blonde than the dirty color it used to be. He'd grown a goatee that was in terrible need of trimming and it was apparently dyed blonde as well. His clothes consisted of a skin-tight white t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting black jeans. He looked almost like a model from a coffeehouse magazine. 

            "Would you like another…tea, was it sir?" asked a waitress, kneeling to pick up the pieces of glass that had exploded around all over the floor.

            "Uhh….no, thanks…." Mark replied in confusion, still gawking opening at Roger's lithe form onstage as the song ended.

"Don't tell me I've broken you apart!

Don't tell me you've got an aching heart –

I'm a modern piece of art –

Strewn about and cluttered in a cart….

Run away, I wanna run away…

Run away, I gotta get away…

Run away."

            They band's last chord echoed softly as they took their bows graciously and the crowd clapped. Roger nodded politely. "Thanks again," he whispered. "We're gonna take a break for a little bit now, but we'll do our second set within the half hour. Thanks." The applause slowly died down as Roger unplugged his guitar, setting it off to the side on a small stand there. The other bandmates dispersed into the audience and found seats.

            "C'mon over and have dinner with us before the next set, Roger," called the drummer.

            "No thanks, Matt," he replied with a soft smile. "I'm not too hungry."

            Suddenly a pair of hands appeared over Roger's eyes, clouding his view. A high-pitched voice accompanied the gesture. "Guess who?"

            "Uh… Barry White."

            Becky rolled her eyes, letting go. "Very funny. I'm not that sexy, am I?"

            "Not quite." He grinned. "Did you enjoy the set?"

            "Definitely! I always enjoy your songs, y'know. Why do you even bother to ask?"

            "I dunno…." He shrugged.

            "C'mon, let's get a seat somewhere in this packed house, eh?"

            He shook his head. "No thanks. Not hungry." Suddenly, he realized that more than a few teenaged girls were eyeing him hungrily from the front table. He smiled nervously. "Hello, girls."

            They bit their lips, blushing and giggling, waving and saying their hellos.

            Roger kept the forced smile and whispered in Becky's ear, "Can we get out of here? They're making me nervous…."

            "Don't want to get your shirt ripped off?"  
            "Not unless you're doing the ripping, babe."

            She squealed like one of the teens and hugged him. "Okay, let's go take a walk."

            Roger nodded and brushed his hair behind his ears – a gesture he'd gotten used to now that his hair was as long as it was. Making his way towards the door, his foot slipped on something and he was forced to grab hold of Becky to keep from falling. "Shit," he whispered, looking around. "There's water all over the floor…." He waved towards a waiter who seemed busy enough already. "Excuse me, waiter? Clean this up before someone else slips, please." The waiter nodded and Roger continued on his way out. Before he took three steps though, he stopped, his eyes searching around. He suddenly felt the presence of a pair of eyes on his back. It was like the eerie feeling he got when he felt as if he was being followed on a dark street. Turning, he only noticed a pale, thin man with bright red hair sitting before him with his head bowed down, eyes studying the table.

            "Roger? What's the matter?" Becky asked, tugging on his shoulder.

            "Uhh…. Nothing…." He shook his head, trying to turn away, but all too abruptly his heart stopped beating and his breath was wrung from his body. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, turning on his heels in one swift motion. Studying the skinny boy before him, he noticed without delay the striped scarf – so intense and flamboyant in all its reminiscent glory: unlike any other scarf in NYC. Making his way slowly back to the table, he stood before it and looked down at the man there. "Excuse me...?"

            Mark looked up slowly, knowing now the confrontation was unavoidable, much as he wasn't ready to see Roger again. Their eyes locked and Mark shivered. "Yeah?" he asked, hoping and praying that maybe Roger wouldn't remember him. What a stupid thought! How could he not remember after such a short time?

            Roger swallowed, licking his dry lips. "Hey…." Oh God, it _was_ Mark! Something inside of him gave way at that moment and he knew that he'd only come to the café tonight in hopes of this very situation. Now that it presented itself, he knew nothing of what he should say. He still hadn't clarified whatever feelings he had for this thin boy before him, and so what was he to do?

            Mark's eyes were the first to give way and lower, breaking the intense gaze that seemed to say more than words could ever do. "Hey," he replied, toying with the edge of his scarf.

            "Can I sit?"

            "Sure…." Mark found the word hard to speak. It was as if he didn't want anything to do with Roger, when that was the only thing he really did want – to be with Roger. Just to once more feel his arms around him – that would be enough! Roger sat carefully, waving Becky away. Mark looked up in time to witness this and then glanced back at Roger, confused. "She your girlfriend?" he found himself asking, although he hadn't wanted to say that at all.

            Roger smiled, shaking his head. "No…. Don't you remember Becky?"

            "No."

            He shrugged, trying to make the conversation easy, but it was hard. "She used to be in my band, back in the CBGB's days…."

            "Oh…."

            The silence hung like a black cloud over the table and this gave them both time to ascertain what the other was thinking. Breaking the reverie, the waiter reappeared, cleaning the mess.

            "Can I get you another drink, sir?" he asked after picking up all the pieces. "Or you, Mr. Davis?"

            Mark shook his head, shrugging. "No flow."

            Roger glanced at the waiter and then back to Mark. "Bring him another tea – on me."

            As Mark shot him a shocked glance, the waiter continued, "Anything for you, sir?"

            "How about a tea for me, as well?"

            "Sure." He scurried off.

            Mark stared at Roger until the musician was forced to turn and meet the awkward gaze. "You didn't have to do that."

            "I know…." Roger bowed his head. "It's the least I can do, right?"

            "No." Mark found his own voice to be bitter and filled with hate, when he wanted only to forgive and forget.

            Roger swallowed, closing his eyes briefly before turning them up to Mark with a pleading stare. "God, I'm so sorry…."

            "No big deal…. It's a free tea, after all, and –"

            "No," retorted Roger with a serious tone. "That's not what I meant…." Roger pushed his hair back behind his ears again swiftly. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly…. I just couldn't take it anymore, Mark. Everything was going wrong and I –"

            "Don't worry about it," Mark replied with a shrug, lowering his gaze. "No big deal."

            "Yes it is a big deal, Mark!" Roger retorted in a hushed whisper, leaning over the table. "God, I've missed you…."

            Mark's head shot up and his eyes brimmed with tears. Roger really hadn't planned to say that at all, but it was the only thing that came out of his mouth. It was the first thing he thought of to say. Mark clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. That reply could have meant any number of things – not only what he _wanted_ it to mean.

            "You-you did?" he stuttered.

            "Yes," he replied, breathlessly. "I-I really have…."

            Mark nodded slowly, his eyes holding Roger's with their shaky glance. "I missed you, too."

            Roger's heart froze and he felt himself breathing a little harder. What the hell was going on? Was he really gay? The words didn't seem to want to manifest in his mind and he couldn't comprehend the meaning of them. Hadn't he loved Mimi? Was that only a big sham to hide what he truly felt for Mark? What about the night that Collins had died? Hadn't he been the one to initiate things between Mark and himself? 

            Clearing his throat and turning away slightly, Roger whispered, "So…how are things?"

            Mark's shoulders drooped considerably, as did his whole appearance. Roger was just making polite conversation. He was only stopping by to say hello and to sing some songs, and then that would be it and he'd never be back. So, Mark's voice became disinterested and he turned to gaze outside the door. "Great."

            Roger's eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't allow himself to try and guess what Mark really wanted to say. "Is that the truth?" he asked.

            "Why wouldn't it be? Should I have reason to lie?" He shrugged, taking his tea from the waiter as he passed. He took a drink quietly, studying the ice cubes inside it. "Things've been great."

            Roger nodded, taking a drink of his own tea and making a face afterwards, realizing that he'd never liked tea. He set it down and just looked at Mark. Suddenly, he noticed a white cloth on Mark's wrist. "What the hell is that?" he found himself crying, grasping Mark's wrist.

            Mark jerked it away, glaring. "Nothing."

            Roger slipped into the chair beside Mark and took his wrist again, firmer this time, and pushed the filmmaker's sleeve up, revealing the white bandages clearly. "You call _this_ nothing?" he whispered urgently.

            Mark tried to move his arm away to no avail. "It's none of your business what happens to me, Roger," he retorted coldly.

            Roger glared. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

            "It's not as if you'd care anyway…."

            Roger's breath stopped for a full moment before he allowed himself to exhale, his eyes softening. "You think I don't care? God Mark, if you only knew…."

            "If I only knew what? That you'd rather run away from your problems than try to fix them? Or that you're really afraid of getting close to someone again because you feel that if you do, you'll lose them like you did Angel, Collins, and Mimi? Take your pick, but it's no matter, because I know them all." He squirmed, trying to break free from Roger's grip.

            Roger shook his head, holding tighter. "Fuck you, Mark…. I've been through hell –"

            "And I haven't?" Mark's eyes burned with tears. "God, just let me go and get the hell out of here… It's not as if you're going to stay anyway."

            "But, Mark, I –"

            "You what, Roger?" Mark cried angrily. "You left me alone, with no one to talk to! Do you think that I wasn't upset too? God, I was a wreck! But, I put all _my_ problems aside to help you, because I knew how much you needed me. I knew you were shaken about Mimi's death and –"

            "Stop, Mark –"

            "No! You need to hear this, damn it! I've waited nearly a year to say it to you, and I won't let you interrupt." He paused, leaning closer. "You're scared." Roger winced, still holding Mark's wrist firmly. "Yes, admit it, Roger. You're so fuckin' scared that you can barely look at me! In fact, you're so scared that you don't want to admit it. Well, you know what? I feel the same way! So to hell with you, if you're going to just come back and tell me you're sorry, because that won't do! I've been through hell and back and farther still, and now you've come back and I get all worked up and then I'll go home and do _this_ again!" he motioned to his wrist. "So, if you want to say anything to me, 'I'm sorry' will not do…." The long speech left him winded slightly and every breath was a feat to accomplish. He let his eyes drop, closing them tightly. "You know, I thought you'd come home…."

            "I tried," Roger breathed, edging closer. "You have to know that I wanted to."

            "Then why didn't you?" Mark looked up, his eyes wet with tears. "Why the hell didn't you?"

            Roger trembled, swallowing as he shook his head helplessly. "I-I don't know…." He studied Mark carefully, noticing the crystalline teardrops that lingered in his bright eyes, red from weariness. He barely noticed that he had pulled Mark's arm so close that it was resting against his stomach and he began to stroke it gently, tenderly. "I just don't know…."

            Mark's eyes closed again, feeling the hard muscles of Roger's chest. "Please, don't," he whispered, inaudibly.

            Roger's hand reached out, tracing Mark's cheek gently as he leaned closer still. "Do you want me to stop?" He paused, breathing in slowly. "Because I don't think I can…." He wiped a few tears away, beginning to pull Mark's face towards his own. The electric shock of a kiss was almost felt – almost.

            Mark gasped for air, pulling himself away fully with ease from Roger. He wrapped his arms around himself, turning away slightly. "I… I gotta go…." He stood swiftly to his feet, leaving his tea unfinished on the table as he rushed out the door.

            Roger stood helplessly, trembling slightly. He felt a sweat on his forehead and a chill upon his face, where Mark's breath had been warm only seconds ago. He took a step forward and then another until he was racing out of the café. Once in the street, he spotted Mark a block ahead already, racing towards the loft. Roger followed, running swiftly until he was directly behind Mark. "Wait! Mark, please!" he called out, grabbing Mark's shoulder and turning him around.

            "What?" retorted Mark, shaking his hands off. "What do you want? Do you want to torture me some more? Don't lie and tell me that you're going to stay and that we'll be together forever and all the rest of that BS, because I know it's a lie! Just tell me what the hell you want from me and get out of my life!"

            Roger gasped for air, trying desperately to get the words out of his mouth, but he found they wouldn't flow.

            Mark glared, nodding and turning around again. "That's what I thought…." Mark walked away, leaving Roger standing in the street – alone. "Goodbye, Roger. Have a nice life…. Good luck with the band…."

            Terror seized Roger. More than anything, he wanted to get that safe feeling back – the feeling he always had when he was with Mark. Whenever he'd been in trouble or had been sick or upset or just needed a smile, Mark had always been there. When Collins had died…. Suddenly, he remembered vividly what he'd been thinking that night. He'd been thinking of every kind thing Mark had ever done for him and that he should do something to help the scrawny man who had sat before him, weeping like a child. That feeling came back again, this time with so much energy that he couldn't help crying out his feelings exactly as he thought them. "Wait! I love you, Mark…."

            Mark stopped mid-stride, his chest heaving with anxious breaths as he turned slowly to face Roger who still stood – motionless and still as a statue. His long hair flowed in the breeze slightly and Mark noticed the tears…. Roger was…crying? He didn't know what to do or what to say. They were both still, gazing at each other with a stare so passionate – and yet so innocent as well – that both of them shook.

            "Wh-What?" Mark questioned softly, gradually making his way back to Roger.

            Roger's lips lifted by bit, his face relaxed now. "I-I said I love you…. And I always have…. God, Mark! I've always loved you…. I don't know why I didn't want to admit…. I was scared and I freaked out…." As Mark stepped closer, Roger tensed. "I'm still scared."

            "Me too…." They were standing a few inches apart now. "But I love you, too, Roger…. You have to know that it's always been that way."

            Mark raised his trembling hands and held Roger's face between them. Roger flinched slightly and shook his head. "I don't wanna lose you Mark…. You were right all along…. I'm so scared, and I don't wanna lose you…."

            "You won't. I promise."

            And then, as Roger relaxed, their faces moved towards each other unhurriedly. As the heat from their breaths mingled and their lips brushed lightly against each other, Roger's arms lifted and fell around the small man before him, pressing him tenderly against his body. Without another word, they kissed.

_I woke up to see your face again._

_I woke up to see_

_You had spent the night again with me._

_I never thought we'd be like this again._

_Never thought we'd be…_

_Then you came back to me,_

_And now I know I should've never let you go,_

_And now I know I've always loved you,_

_And you are so much more than I deserve._

_I want you to know that now I know._

            "For the last song of this set," Roger spoke into the microphone, glancing out in the audience towards Mark, "I'd like to sing 'Won't You Please Come Home?', which is a song I couldn't finish until I understood what I was writing." He smiled gently, strumming the acoustic guitar once. He was alone onstage to do this last song. "So, here it is….

_I've been walking down that street again today._

_Every time I go outside,_

_My heart begins to pull towards that same old street._

_Do you think that I'm crazy?_

_Would say that I'm insane?_

_Just because I want another lifetime of this pain –_

_This torturous existence isn't mine._

_ _

_Would you think I've lost my mind,_

_Were I to tell you that I love my lover still,_

_And that still I churn?_

_As my heart begins to burn within my chest,_

_I rest against an empty roomless wall,_

_And I fall –_

_Down into the abyss I go, alone._

_ _

_Won't you please_

_Won't you please, please come home?_

_Won't you please come home, my friend?_

_Won't you please come home?_

_ _

_Well, I've found another path today._

_It goes around the block where we used to eat –_

_Near that empty street_

_Where we used to hold each other tight:_

_Now we fight._

_Would you label me a sucker?_

_Would you call me that to my face?  
Can't you see I'm broken – torn apart?_

_Don't you know that_

_Everything's turning for a reason,_

_So I've heard._

_Don't you care that_

_Every time I feel I've caught myself,_

_I begin to fall again._

_ _

_Won't you please_

_Won't you please, please come home?_

_Won't you please come home, my friend?_

_Won't you please come home?_

_ _

_I'm lost without your eyes –_

_So distant yet so wise_

_I'm aching for your touch –_

_So gentle yet so tough_

_I feel that if I don't_

_Walk by your house at least a million times a week,_

_I'm so weak…_

_I can barely stand to tell you what you mean to me –_

_Can't you see?_

_ _

_And now you're here with me again,_

_And now I know the way to love again,_

_But all I want to say to you is this:_

_I love you…._

_I love you, my best friend…._

_Come home to me…_

_ _

_Won't you please come home?_

_Won't you just humor your dear friend?_

_Won't you please, please come home?_

_Don't misunderstand – I love you so…_

_How could you not know?_

_Won't you please come home, my friend?_

_Is this the bitter end?_

_Don't tell me that we will never mend._

_Won't you please come home?_

            The audience applauded and Roger took his bows once again, stepping off the stage and taking Mark's hand, leading him out the door, guitar in hand. "Let's go home."

****I know, cheesy, right? But, hey, that's what makes

a good love story. ;-) Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.

This one was a lot shorter than my other RENT fic, huh? ;-)**** 


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